The birds along the shore, and they were noisy In desperate flight, and the eagle struck, and the talons Seized the conspicuous swan. And as the Italians Looked up in fascination, all the birds, Most wonderful to tell, wheeled, and their outcry Clanged, and their wings were a dark cloud in heaven, A cloud that drove their enemy before them, Till, beaten down by force, by weight, the eagle Faltered, let go the prey, which fell to the river As the great bird flew far to the distant clouds. This omen the Rutulians cheered with shouting, With hands that cry for action. And their augur, Tolumnius, roused them further:--“I have prayed Often for this, and here it is! I own it, I recognize the gods. With me as leader, With me, I say, take arms, unhappy people, Whom, like frail birds, the insolent marauder Frightens in war, despoils your shores. He also Will take to flight, far to the distant oceans. Combine, come massing on, defend in battle The king snatched from you!” He went rushing forward, Let fly his spear: the whistling shaft of cornel Sang its determined way through air, and with it A mighty shout arose, formations broken, Hearts hot for battle, as the spear went flying. Nine handsome brothers, their mother a Tuscan woman, Good wife to the Arcadian Gylippus, Stood in its path, and one of them, distinguished In looks and gleaming armor, fell; the spear-point Struck where the belt was buckled over the belly And went on through the ribs. The brothers, angry, Grieving, drew swords, or picked up spears in frenzy, Went blindly rushing in, and the Latin columns Came charging at them; from their side the Trojans, Men from Agylla, brightly-armed Arcadians, Poured in a rushing flood. One passion held them,-- _Decide it with the sword!_ They strip the altars, The sky is dark, it seems, with a storm of weapons, The iron rain is a deluge. Bowls and hearth-fires Are carried off; Latinus flees: the gods Are beaten, the treaty ruined by corruption. Other men rein their chariots, leap on horses, Come with drawn swords.